


Change Bites

by Lyssandra_Med



Series: One-Shot [71]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood, Blood Kink, Creature Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Creature Fic, Creature Hermione Granger, Death, F/F, Freeform, Vampire Bellatrix Black Lestrange, Vampire Hermione Granger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-09
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:55:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26381500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lyssandra_Med/pseuds/Lyssandra_Med
Summary: Hermione made a mistake. Now she's paying for it and Bellatrix is reaping all the rewards.Or; Lockhart makes a mistake.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Bellatrix Black Lestrange
Series: One-Shot [71]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1429282
Comments: 12
Kudos: 91





	Change Bites

**Author's Note:**

> unedited, freeform

It burned, _it burned,_ **_it burned._**

It burned her and it hurt her, it swallowed up her screams and drowned her deep beneath the flames of penance. She was sure this was the end, this was it, this was all that there was and would ever be, nothing else at all because _this was the fucking end of her._

The thing inside her blood wanted out, it wanted to breathe and live, to fight and fuck, to tear apart everything she’d ever known and drink the blood, eat the flesh, carve it open and do it all again. It wanted to destroy her and then rebuild her, it wanted to take her plucky little heart - _the heart she’d held and loved, caressed and coveted_ \- and shred it into something that could never go back together. She hated it and understood the pain, she’d been the one to let this happen and no matter what she wanted she’d need to live with this decision because there was nothing else, there never could _be_ anything else.

There was no one here to help her or save her, and she’d now have to deal with this herself.

The bite marks on her skin were new and raw, red and bleeding still. The night had yet to fade, there was no sun beneath which she could burn and no one to stake her heart, because why would anything _ever_ go right for her. She had needed to stay alive and she had needed to fight, but instead of that she’d been beaten by her stubborn pride and need for acknowledgement into helping out that buffoon of a man.

She would be a vampire by the morning. She knew that would happen, had lied to herself and followed along with that fool's ambitions only because he’d promised to push her book through. The non-fiction realm in wizarding lands was hard enough to enter without being a muggle-born, and she needed to get places fast. Sooner rather than later, and so she’d bit into that poisoned apple. Instead of being safe and secure Lockhart was now dead on the floor and emptied of blood while she was just creeping by with the barest sliver remaining. The pack had taken them both by surprise and then she’d found herself spread onto the floor with a gash in her neck and eyes filled with malice. She was never one to make it past the things that needed changing, doing, and she’d decided that it was in her best interests to be armed.

Not that it meant anything in the end.

Maybe it was why she was alive though, after all, she’d been _somewhat_ prepared. Lockhart had said it was one vampire, old and wizened, falling apart into nothing. He’d get what he wanted and she’d get what she needed, then they could split away and never see one another again. Now she was undead - _or getting there_ \- and he was a slowly cooling corpse and smear of blood along the concrete.

And she could fucking _smell_ him.

Of _course_ this transformation hurt. Of _course_ this pain she’d earned would be maddening in its intensity. There was steam rising from her skin, pallid vapours and nothing left for her to do except lay there and succumb to it.

The stake she’d brought with her was dropped to the ground because she couldn’t do it, had rolled underneath the couch because she had - _in a moment of lucidity_ \- thought that maybe she could. She didn’t want to die but she hadn’t wanted to live a half-life either.

“Oh little one, I see you’ve made quite the mistake.”

She craned her neck - _or tried to, the pain far, far too great_ \- and looked to where the voice came from.

It spoke in honeyed tones she’d known from a life lived long ago, “You shouldn’t have come out here but that’s your error and not mine. Lucky you that I happened by at least, so there’s that. Now then, I suppose no one would mind if I decide to take you, eh, Pet? So then. Do I, or don’t I?”

Hermione growled at that voice, knew that voice, knew it so well, hated it so much that it _hurt._ The woman, the vampire, the _thing_ wanted to help her, and even if the words were wrong Hermione could recall that tone, that honey, that venom dripping sweetly. She could recall how that tongue had felt against her lips, against her mouth, inside her core. She would give everything in her life to keep hearing it until she was dead.

What better way to exit the land of the living than by having a loved one at her side, even if that love only existed as deep-seated hate. The woman had abandoned her for Quirrel - _and no wonder she was here now, a vampire as well_ \- and Hermione resented that she seemed so unsurprised to find her here. 

Bellatrix stepped closer, Hermione reached out, bloody fingers wrapping against the soft cloth of a black skirt she knew too well.

Her movements must have done something to Bellatrix, surprised her somewhat even, or perhaps it was just that the desperation on display had Bellatrix confused. Maybe she’d expected Hermione to beg for death, or spit in her direction.

Instead of a boot against her neck or a curse into her back, Hermione was hauled up. Pulled into soft arms and cradled, her head against Bellatrix’s shoulder and nothing to do except sit there and wonder what would happen next.

There was really no reason to wonder.

The curse would happen, she was sure of it, the vampiric taint coursing through her veins was starving her body of blood and energy and Hermione knew it was almost done. She could smell the remnants of Lockhart, she could hear Bellatrix’s faintly beating heart, she could even taste the arousal dripping from both their cores. Hermione wondered - _not for the first time_ \- if this woman would be the end of her. Surely she had once thought that Bellatrix would kill her, surely she’d anticipated it. 

But she’d never anticipated that Bellatrix would be the one to shepherd her to un-death.

“Hush, hush, come now, little one. It’s not so bad like this, I swear it. Let’s go find you something fresh to drink, eh? I’m sure that you’re a little peckish now that you’re on our side. Ours is better anyways, Lockhart was a fool. If not us then it would have been him that killed you. A poor and tragic hero unable to save the poor and tragic heroine, the bookworm locked into her fate. It’d make for a _poor_ and _tragic_ tale, and he’d sell so many fucking books. He’d twist it into something disgusting, so really it’s better this way. You’ll see, love, you’ll see.”

Hermione didn’t want to see, didn’t want to worry, couldn’t worry, she was blanking out now and experiencing tunnel vision. Nothing made sense, all she could see was red, all she could feel was pain. There was no one moment where she struck, just the next moment where Bellatrix was holding her steady and Hermione had nowhere to go, nothing to do except hope she wasn’t dropped to the ground or left in some alleyway to die. The Ministry would never let her back, not like this, they’d never allow someone so afflicted as she was to work with _living_ humans.

She was fucked as said as much, felt Belltarix roughly chuckle at the words and wondered - _not for the hundredth time_ \- if she was to be saved or damned.

“Both, sweetling,” Bellatrix crooned in her ear, tongue and sharpened teeth rolling along the shell. 

Well, that answered that.

The pain settled back in, just as strong as ever and it was _hurting_ again, _throbbing_ again, a deep-seated ache that hollowed her out. Her blood diminished, she starved, and veins collapsed, arteries tightened.

She bit, fangs half-formed and nigh on useless but enough to break the skin.

Hermione drank and drank, Bellatrix simply humming while Hermione ran her iron-laced tongue against the open wound and _moaned._

Then all too soon Bellatrix grew tired of their position and rolled her shoulder, pulled back, shoved Hermione away until she was on the ground and panting like some bitch in heat, some neonate who’d come for the first time in her life.

“Fuck you,” Hermione panted, angry and confused and losing herself amid this death-like rebirth. “Fuck you, and fuck the fucking horse you fucking rode in on.”

Bellatrix chuckled dryly at that, washed her wand down her front and cleaned up spilt blood.

“Soon enough, Pet, soon enough.”

Hermione glared daggers and tried to remain quiet but she couldn’t, couldn’t hold it back so she screamed, couldn’t stop it so she cried. Long and dreadful, so much pain in her heart that it stopped, restarted, staggered along like some pitiful drunk.

By all the gods above and below it _hurt._

“Hush,” Bellatrix said, a kiss upon Hermione’s lips as she picked her back up, cradled her close. “The worst is yet to come.”


End file.
